


Palette Drop

by RedRuse



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Avalon - Freeform, Canon Era, Canonical Character Death, Colors, Emotional Hurt, Happy Ending, M/M, Modern Era, Old Merlin - Freeform, One Shot, Post-Season/Series 05 Finale, Reincarnation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-18
Updated: 2019-04-18
Packaged: 2020-01-15 19:00:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18505114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedRuse/pseuds/RedRuse
Summary: As long as your soulmate is alive, starting from the day of their birth, your world will be full of color. When they die, your world is drained and you'll be back to a gray existence. No one is exempt from this rule; not even Merlin, whose soulmate dies in his arms. The bleak future is still irrelevant when he can't appreciate the hues of Arthur.





	Palette Drop

**Author's Note:**

> Me: "Hey I should finish or at least update my heckin big Avatar fic since it's so close to the end"
> 
> Also me: "bruh merthur. Merlin so precious. Arthur my king."
> 
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> And, additionally.
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>  
> 
> Me: "I want to draw so much fanart for other Merthur fics or just the show or my own! :)"
> 
> Also me: "what's a pencil. What's a Merlin"
> 
>  
> 
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> 
> **Enjoy anyways. I'm enjoying the writing process.**

For as long as your soulmate lives, your world will be full of color. Merlin knew this. Of _course_ he knew this. He could never forget the day he recognized his world was flushed with beautiful hues - they had been that way for as long as he could remember - or the way those very same hues seemed to glow when he realized that the arrogant prince he served was the cause of it all. Lancelot once told him of how, at a very young age, he had been scared into crying as beautiful colors overtook the usual gray he had gotten use to. Gwen told Merlin later on how her world shattered as all glows, shades, highlights, and drags of a beautiful paintbrush seeped away. They were replaced by unforgiving, lifeless tones. All because Lancelot had died.

Of course Merlin knew this happened. Rather, _would_ happen. After Balinor died, the warlock spared the shortest of visits home. Hunith was heartbroken at the news but took it in stride, as she was a strong-willed woman. When he asked her why she was so calm, why she could bare to sit in the same room after hearing the fate of her beloved, she said it was because she already knew. The minute her world turned somber and bleak was the minute she began to mourn, sobbing and trembling all on her own. Suffering so deeply for the loss of her love.

When his world seemed to waver in its strength the first time around, he sought comfort from Gaius. In turn, the physician told him about the time his colors came to him in a rush at the young age of ten, but then bled out at the age of 47. He never did get to meet his soulmate, though he still loved Alice dearly, and at Merlin's exasperated cry, said it was fine; his soulmate got to live in a world full of vibrant life until the end of their days, so that was enough for him.

As Arthur's hand slipped from the back of Merlin's head, eyes fluttering weakly until they wouldn't open again, it happened slowly. Perhaps it was the shock that delayed the whole process or, better yet, Merlin just failed to comprehend what was going on until he realized nothing looked quite right. It would all be the same in the end.

  


He blinked once. Blinked twice. Like rain on a freshly painted canvas, like an ink-wash with too much water, the color began to run. Mouth opening and closing in desperation, Merlin fastened his hold on the prince's limp body, pulling it closer to his chest. It was the skin that seemed to drain first, turning an empty, christened gray that matched the armor; the armor itself didn't seem to change much, but was far too dull. The grass beneath them grew dark as if it caught all of the bleeding hues, soaking it up like an empty rag. It looked more like it had been stained by blood - Arthur wasn't bleeding anymore, so it wasn't that, but it reminded the warlock that his friend would never bleed again.

"Arthur..." It came out in a hopeless whimper. 

The once red tunic turned to slate, the sky was lifeless and empty. Merlin dared to look at his own sleeves. It should've come as a painful surprise to realize that he was also devoid of a natural glow, but it was a bleak sign. Just a sign. Nothing could've possibly choked him up more than having his prince and his king, his future and his soulmate, his _friend_ die in his arms. "Not like this..." he pleaded, hunching to press their foreheads together. "Please, not like this... Anything but this..."

No one answered him. He was alone, and Merlin would continue to be alone for as long as time itself stood.

*  
*  
*

The rain was light. Clouds covered the rural city in a thin blanket. Neighbors, friends, and strangers alike bustled back and forth. Life went on, though sluggishly, after the land lost her king; Merlin was just the same. His old joints were aching, his ears were bitten raw by the spring air. As per usual, Merlin was making his usual rounds on the sides of the road, mind wandering far, far away. An elderly neighbor - she looked as old as he did, but was centuries too young - waved as he passed and he did the same.

He knew where his legs were carrying him yet they begrudgingly took their time. They stopped him, forcing him to make conversation with Helena about something as empty as the newspaper article from the previous day. The shrubbery around him was a dark gray, the petunias were a splotchy, watery white. The brooch on the lapel of Helena's coat, though made of a gem, shimmered onyx. Merlin didn't want to wait around, he didn't want to stall. As soon as he could finish this impulsive routine, he could go home. He could discard his bag and untie his boots, toss aside his beanie, shed his jacket, and sit on the empty floor with a book. Not a day went by when he didn't wish he could make time stop. Merlin had even prayed to some of the gods that appeared and disappeared over time in the growing, worldly culture to help him. They never did, of course. 

While Merlin often wanted to cease existing, he clung to the empty chance that, someday, he'd be needed again. Needed by Albion's king. Needed by the one who loved him back. The thought alone was barely enough once he reached his first thousand years of loneliness. 

  


"-and then my granddaughter, such a sweet girl, sent me a card for my birthday. Isn't that nice?"

"It certainly is, Helena. She's only seven, right?"

"Yes. I'm flattered you remembered... Hm? Merlin? What's wrong?"

His eyes had gone wide and his jaw practically unhinged. Helena wasn't even the focus of his attention; it was the hedge behind her. It seemed impossible to begin with, highly unlikely that it even occurred. It had to have been a trick of the light or his old, dreary eyes. It's not like Merlin _didn't_ know what color it was. He forgot what it looked like, sure, but it was thanks to the faint vibration of his magic that he never failed to recognize what it felt like. Yes... This was the work of magic.

When the single splotch of green began to bleed into the leaves surrounding it, tears fell from his eyes without warning. "Oh, my..!" Helena exclaimed, digging into her big purse for a handkerchief. He didn't need it, though. Merlin tripped over himself in his attempt to move. Bidding a hasty farewell to his neighbor, the old man ran.

  


Something in his chest turned warm. Under the flutter of his eyelids with each frantic blink, Merlin could've sworn he saw gold. His bag slipped off his shoulder and splashed against the asphalt, forgotten. He reached up, frantically ripping away the beanie crowning his white locks before letting it fall to the ground. Magic swallowed him from the inside and radiated outward. Long hair turned short, joints became fluid like a well-oiled machine, his posture straightened. Each stride turned powerful and wide. Merlin's youth came flooding back in waves. He wasn't just running. He was _chasing_.

The soft white clouds tore open to reveal a sky of baby blue. The shrubbery on his left was a deep, vibrant green. When he spared a glance at the yard of one of the homes he passed, its tulips were a rainbow of yellows, oranges, and pinks. Merlin choked back a sob and whispered a spell that altered the very clothes on his body. Soon, they were no longer just a weight holding him down, but instead something as familiar and as comfortable as his own skin. For him, Albion reappeared in the form he remembered best; when he was just Merlin, a bumbling servant to the King of Camelot with the biggest secret in the world. Sliding down a hill, he splashed into the frigid lake stretched out before him, water soaking through his boots and the legs of his pants. Up above, a warm sun shone brighter than ever before.

**Author's Note:**

> The water was all the way up to his waist when he finally threw himself forward, tackling an armored form and wrapping his arms so impossibly tight around their shoulders. Breaking away to get a good, disbelieving look, Merlin nearly screamed his joy to the heavens.  
> Though the world had become beautiful once more, there was simply no contest.
> 
> Hair a golden crown, cerulean eyes that shone with life, cape a _mighty_ Pendragon red. . .


End file.
